But scoffing, chipping away at it,
a slurping mind.
A brain that's curdled before
And will curdle.
A brain that's curdled.
It has changed tack,
It has quietened intimidation.
It has roused some concern.
So, I dunno.
Mum reminded me that grandad ate brawn.
A lunch you may have shared.
Anyhow, you haven't noticed.
Muscovado glue.
Cockerel flaps in the syrup, emerges, blows out of his feathers, glistens.
Then what.
For phoned in bray, the pulling of pat,
champagne employing the flute,
it's still a life.
Crawled out.
Begun.
No comments:
Post a Comment